


to arise

by amandaskankovich



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:42:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaskankovich/pseuds/amandaskankovich
Summary: she has the baby now





	to arise

**Author's Note:**

> Something I started writing before 2x11 so it’s not exactly canon anymore but I decided to finish it up and post anyway.
> 
> Suicide mention tw   
> Child death tw

The driver’s dark hair and the handmaid’s blue eyes were the first things to tiptoe around in conversation. To gloss over, to bite your tongue about. 

She’d thought of a comfortable fiction about Fred’s mother having had black hair but Fred had taken one look at the mess of dark on top of that tiny head and stroked his fingers through it when he’d seen Mrs. Putnam staring a bit too long. “A brunette beauty, isn’t she?” It was as if by running his fingers over the hair and saying these words he made the air shimmer around the child. Black became brown. But it was only the way the morning sun shined in through the window. She held the child to her covered breast.

(The eyes don’t really need an explanation. But she still finds herself wanting anything other than the truth, until she remembers her eyes are blue too.)

Off in the corner the handmaid sobbed noticeably. Putting on a pitiful show. It had to be allowed because of what had been achieved. The other one’s gathered around her. Cocooned her in red and then there were gentle, calming, whispers. The sobs stopped eventually. They would have had to. But it was nice that they didn’t have to make it. Not on this day with the sky so blue and a child alive and perfect. God’s glory shining down on them in this room, in this house, in this tiny heartbeat. She can almost hear, “Understood, it’s all understood,” coming from Him through the baby’s tiny mouth when it begins to open but what comes out is a cry. “Oh she’s hungry!” one of the wives says and the room goes quiet as everyone turns in the direction of the handmaid. But Serena will not look. She will not look until the Aunt says, “Mrs. Waterford the child needs to eat.” Serena is going to protest. She’s not sure exactly what she can say but she still intends to protest. But the woman is already removing the child from her arms and walking over to the handmaid whose own arms open up to receive the child before the Aunt has walked even half of the distance to her.

They do not go down until the baby is in them.

*

When they return the child to her Serena presses her lips to her forehead.

The handmaid is loaded into a van but not before filling enough bottles to make it through the night.

It’s fine. More will be delivered in the morning.

*

But all through that night she finds herself getting out of bed again and again because what if the child stops breathing in the night. What becomes of her then. There was a wife that happened to once. The child was perfect and shining and alive like this child right now for weeks and weeks and then one morning he was just gone. Dead in his crib. Gone in his sleep. All of that. For three weeks of life. What do you do? What do you do after everything you had to do and then you’re left with nothing.

So the mother drank multiple somethings from under the sink.

*

But there’s nothing left to do now but live in the first night. Keep telling yourself that it was all worth it while basking in the child that is in this now very much alive. Don’t dwell on the unpleasantness. Don’t will death to be with ingratitude from fear. Savor and cherish and thank. Never stop thanking. There can never be enough of it offered. Throw yourself onto the floor, pull out your hair, rip your clothes to shreds, drown yourself in tears and praise, praise, praise. Light yourself on fire. Praise, praise, praise. Cut off pieces of yourself and offer them. Praise, praise, praise.

You have everything now.

*

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

There are songs she’d like to sing to her daughter. That technically are still allowed. But to leave things uncomplicated better to sing them lips closed and without a sound. Just hold the child close. Tell yourself your child hears the song from the constant beat of your heart.

Tell yourself that and make it so.


End file.
